Pink Is Not Your Colour
by Thought
Summary: Companion to Prin69's Stockholm Syndrome. Because you know you want to know what's going on with the rest of the team.
1. Chapter 1

Pink Is Not Your Colour

By: Thought

Disclaimer: Nope

This is a companion to Prin69's new fic, Stockholm Syndrome, which is much funnier than this and which you must go read right now and then come read this. Y'all should give her reviews!

A/N: Ok. So I got on AIM today, and Prin69 pounced on me and asked me to beta her fic very quickly. And then I was like, "You know my brain has decided that Ziva's cell wasn't on because she forgot it at Abby's while they were busy with …other… activities." And then she said I should write it. So I did. But it got a bit out of control. I'm trying to get out a chapter very day she gets one out on Stockholm Syndrome.

…She gave me permission! Blame her!

XXX

Four-thirty in the fucking morning and Abby was awakened by the sound of something hitting the bedroom floor and a muffled curse in a language that was most assuredly not English. She rolled over, pulling the blanket up to her nose so only her eyes peaked out.

"Where're you going?" she asked, voice even raspier than normal from sleep.

Ziva turned, pulling on her boot with one hand and zipping her jacket with the other. "Go back to sleep."

Abby pouted, though the blanket and the darkness made it impossible to see. "I'm not five years old. What's up?"

Ziva sighed, and sat down on the side of the bed. "I couldn't sleep. And then I was thinking, and I realized that I didn't bring a change of clothes for work this morning. Tony would tease me endlessly, yes? I don't think Gibbs would approve of partner homicide before the second cup of coffee."

Abby smirked. "I don't know. I could probably get Tony to shut up."

Ziva sighed. "Didn't Gibbs warn you about handcuffing people to chairs?"

Abby nodded, still sleepy. "Yup. But he never said anything about the glitter glue part. 'sides. Tony handcuffed? Very hot."

"I think he was a bit too traumatized by the sight of McGee's hair sprayed a bright pink to say much at the time."

"He deserved it."

He stole your Caf-Pow."

Abby hummed in agreement. "You're right, I did go pretty easy on him."

Ziva stood up, stretching. "I should go before it gets light out. There're less idiot American drivers out on the roads when it's dark."

Abby buried her face in her pillow and grinned. "Mmk. See you at work?"

"You will," Ziva confirmed.

"Love you," Abby called, already half asleep, as Ziva exited the room.

XXX

She was awakened at the ungodly hour of seven – she hadn't gotten to sleep until four. She had a vague memory of Ziva leaving, but the only thing that confirmed that this wasn't a dream was the Israeli's notable absence. She picked up her ringing cell phone and muttered a groggy and none too polite greeting into it.

"Abs, wake up. I need you at a scene asap."

She frowned, her mind not computing the information. "I don't have to be in for another hour, Jethro."

He sighed. "Yes, but this morning you're going on a field trip. A kid's birthday sleepover was interrupted by the murder of the father and there's too much evidence to bring back to you, so we're bringing you to the evidence. You can gather what you think will help us figure out what's going on."

"That's everybody else's job," she whined, finally sitting up in bed.

"They're going to be there, too. We need all the help we can get on this one and every single other team is on a case of their own."

"Which means I'm going to have a shitload of stuff to process when I get in. I don't have time to play Scooby Doo with you guys." She swung her legs over the side of the bed and her foot landed on something hard.

"You don't have a choice. Ask the Director if you don't believe me."

"Ow! Goddamnit!" was her only response.

"Abs?"

She reached down and lifted the offending object. A cell phone. Ziva's, to be exact. "I'm fine. Just stepped on something. Okay, give me the address. But note that this impresses me about as much as the time when Viv spilled coffee all over my mass-spec."

"I'll keep that in mind." He listed off the address, and Abby, not having pen and paper handy, texted it to her own cell phone off of Ziva's, turning the other woman's off as soon as she was done to preserve the little battery power it had left.

"I'll be there soon," she told him, setting Ziva's forgotten phone aside.

"Good," she heard her boss mutter. A second later, a child's voice could be heard over the line.

"Mr. McGee, can I play with your computer?"

Abby snorted. "You guys must be having so much fun!"

A different voice came over the line. "Mr. Gibbs, can I give you a makeover?"

The first voice interjected, "He's all gray, like Grandpa. My brother says that old fogies don't like makeovers."

Abby hung up before Gibbs' frustration jumped out of his ear and rode the phone signal in order to strangle her.

TBC…


	2. part ii

Part ii

She arrived at the address that Gibbs had given her after forty-five minutes of driving around, searching for it. In order to make her use of time efficient, she'd been forced to downgrade from the Starbucks coffee which she preferred to get her mornings started to a convenience store brew that came straight from the spout of an automatic machine and had been rung through by a clerk who reminded her far too much of Bowie. Reflecting on the torture she'd gone through to get the second-rate caffeine source and the amount of time she'd wasted just looking for the house, she decided that it really wouldn't have made a difference if she'd taken an extra three minutes at Starbucks.

"You're late," Gibbs called to her before she was even completely out of her car. She slammed the door with unnecessary force.

"Maybe next time tell me when the house is stuck in the ass-end of the city behind a junk yard that rivals Tony's desk drawers for disorganization, and surrounded by trees thick enough I practically had to get out my machete to get in here."

He shrugged. "You're a smart girl, I figured you could find the place."

She didn't give him the courtesy of a response, swinging her field kit out of the trunk and stalking toward the house that looked like it had jumped right off the screen of a psycho killer movie – rundown and really no more than a shack.

"Everybody else here?" She asked once she understood that Gibbs really was intent on following her at a very close distance until she entered the house.

"Nope. I can't get a hold of DiNozzo or David." She winced and wondered how much overtime the two agents would be pulling to make up for their sin.

Ducky was bent over what, upon closer inspection, turned out to be the body of a short and stocky man dressed in pajama pants decorated with white and red dots and a shirt that, at one time must have been white, but was now covered in the blood from his slit throat.

"Who is he?" she asked, keeping a respectful distance.

"Petty Officer Jack Daniels," Ducky stated.

She stared. "No, seriously."

He looked up at her, nodding. "I'm quite serious, Abigail. And if the reports of the wife were anything to go by, it was a most suitable moniker. Apparently our Mr. Daniels was quite a drinker when he was on leave. Unfortunately, he never had the chance to die from liver failure. No, someone beat his internal organs to the punch, I'm afraid."

She bit her lip in thought. "So naturally you're suspecting the wife." She was looking at Ducky, but speaking to Gibbs.

"Good guess."

She snorted. "Not really."

"We're looking for whatever made that cut, as well as any trace that anyone aside from Mrs. Daniels and the kids has been here within the last eight hours," Gibbs instructed.

"I have worked a crime scene before," she snapped.

He frowned at her. "Once."

She glared. "I'll need to fingerprint the mom and kids."

He shook his head. "McGee's on that. He's doing interviews, too. You're just here to gather evidence."

She frowned. "And you're here because…"

He stared at her. "To do the interviews."

She frowned. "But you just said McGee—"

"I know what I said, Abby. Now go."

She sighed, overdramatically. "I won't be going far. First place to gather is at the scene of the crime. AT least, that's my opinion." She wasn't in the mood to be cheerful and sweet quite yet and therefore her usual Abby cuteness was lacking in her last bighting remark.

She was just pulling a pair of gloves from her bag when her cell rang, drawing Gibbs' attention.

"Yeah, talk," she said with as much cheer as she could inject into her voice.

"Abs. Thank God. Listen, I'm in the second floor bathroom…I need you to somehow get me a tie. I managed to spill coffee all over mine. I got it off the shirt, but the tie's a lost cause. And it'd be really fantastic if you could make it one without skulls. Send it in with Bryan, I think I can stand to be humiliated in front of him—oh hell, send _Jackson_ I don't care! Just help me out? Gibbs is gonna kill me if I'm not at my desk within the next five minutes."

She couldn't help but laugh. "Nope, Gibbs is gonna kill you, period. Your phone was off. We're all out at a crime scene in the middle of nowhere."

"Hey! That DiNozzo?" Gibbs demanded. She nodded. He snatched the phone away from her.

"Why the hell was your phone off?"

Abby smirked, wondering what excuse Tony could come up with. Gibbs growled under his breath. "Well, you _and_ Officer David have just earned yourselves a day of paperwork! We'll be back eventually, and it had better all be done."

He snapped the phone shut without waiting for a reply from Tony. She held out her hand for the phone, and he glanced over at her, frowning as if the world's largest thunder cloud had just taken up residence over his head. "Something funny?"

She shook her head. "No. Nothing… at all."


End file.
